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2019 Bentley Continental GT First Drive Review | A grand tourer learns to dance

The Austrian Alps are a curious venue to show off that great hunter of the highways, the Bentley Continental GT. With deep green forests and soaring thrusts of exposed rock, the Alps are one of those few places where the natural world still reigns supreme. Humanity isn't going to change this place much. You can forget about six-lane freeways blasted through rock — the only way to get around is on narrow, twin lanes. True to its name, the coupe is perhaps the truest grand touring car on the market — comfort happily married to speed. I once logged a personal best time between New York City and Boston in a base GT, despite a pounding nighttime rain. Even that miserable East Coast route felt easy in the GT, which eats through highway miles in a peculiarly relentless fashion. It was born for distance. This is our first drive of the new, third-generation car, which won't be sold in North America for another year, at a starting price of $214,600. We've been told it is a changed machine — a GT still, but with more nimbleness. And now we're about to find out, having left behind quaint Austrian villages for a steep mountain road that switchbacks up toward the clouds. It's everything you hope and dream when you fantasize about the Alps. Before me is a straightaway interrupted by a quick left-right bend and an uphill switchback. A small twist of hands on the nicely weighted steering wheel and the Bentley jukes through the left-right fluidly; no need to brush the brakes until we're right up to the hairpin. Then a firm push on the stoppers and a full lock of the steering wheel and — listen to that! — tire noise from the 21-inch Pirellis as we get back on the gas early. The car stays remarkably flat despite the camber of the turn. I snap open my hands and flat-foot the accelerator. Another hairpin beckons just beyond. And so it goes, the Conti welcoming a full-throated uphill attack. We get to the top and begin the fall back down the mountain, which is even more illuminating. This is the model with the W12 — the only one available at launch, notorious for carrying too much weight in its nose. Take a previous generation on a tight downhill route and you wrestle the grille through the turns, giving up entry speed to mitigate inevitable front-end push. It was a point-and-shoot car, relying on good brakes and ample power to make up lost time through the turns. This new generation is a momentum machine. There is a newfound rhythm and flow. It is deft and it is nimble.

2014 Bentley Flying Spur

Redefining Super Luxury On A Shrinking Planet
Anyone on Earth with access to the Internet, a television or radio for the last 20 years knows that China is no longer the poor stronghold for strict Communist ideals that it was for much of the 20th Century. (Well, at least not in some places.) Traveling to China twice in less than a month - first to Shanghai for a very international auto show and now to Beijing to drive and review the 2014 Bentley Flying Spur - I've learned that there's no lack of personal wealth, at least in two of the world's largest cities.
And yet, even I think the scene before me is a little bit ridiculous. Here I am, slowly climbing up a hillside to reach a fortification at something called Zhuanduo Pass, where roughly a dozen pristine examples of Western decadence sit idling their hand-built 12-cylinder engines in the shadow of China's revered and awesome Great Wall. Not five kilometers south of here, I'd passed an old man in traditional all-black garb, literally carrying a bundle of sticks on his back from one side of a village to the other. Now as I look through the snug-fitting and silent side glass of the my $200,000+ palace on wheels, I'm more apt to see fat German tourists crisping in the hot Chinese sun while blowing the equivalent of an average Chinese monthly paycheck on lunch and a few Great Wall souvenirs.

The myth and mystery of The Bentley Cocktail

The other day, we were trying to find ways to delight a visiting relative who requested a cocktail made with apple brandy (don't ask), and after poring through Mr. Boston and The Playboy Bartender's Guide we were fortunate enough to come across a recipe. This particular concoction piqued our interest not just because it was a means to get rid of that bottle of Calvados that had been malingering on our bar cart, drawing fruit flies and quizzical scorn, since it was gifted to us at the launch of the Peugeot 407 in 2004. It was because of the automotive connection. (Duh.) The cocktail is called The Bentley, and it has a sexy, if probably apocryphal, origin story. According to the legend, the Bentley Boys – rich, Jazz Age, car-loving, British playboy racers – invented the drink after their first of five Le Mans victories, in 1924. Canadian-born WWI hero and Olympic swordsman John Duff and local English Bentley test driver and Bentley 3-Liter Super Sport owner Frank Clement were the only British team and vehicle in this second-ever endurance race, surrounded by more than three dozen French drivers and cars (and a couple of Germans). But despite typical British maladies ­– broken shocks, seized lug nuts, and a dysfunctional gearshift – and a slew of fires, punctures, and chassis-snapping wrecks amongst the field, they persevered. Arriving at their celebratory party at their club near their adjoining apartments in London's exclusive Mayfair neighborhood, they discovered that all of the alcohol had been consumed, with the exception of Calvados and Dubonnet. Mixing these together in equal parts, and adding some bitters, they allegedly invented a drink to settle their affluent nerves. Like most folkloric explanations for the existence of some gross cocktails – the wisecrack-inspired Tom Collins, the whole-cloth-concocted Seelbach – the tale seemed as compelling to us as it was ridiculous. Fortunately, among our friends are many with mastery in mixology, so we decided to put the mystery (and recipe) to them. "To be honest, I'd never even heard of the cocktail," said Tokyo-based international beverage expert Nick Coldicott, the most skeptical of our potation pundits. "And that story smells fishy to me. It seems unlikely that a party venue would have enough of a booze collection to have Calvados and Dubonnet, but not enough whisky or gin or champagne to see the party out.